Chapter 4: Wounds

The taste of dirt coated James's mouth. He spat out grit and wiped his lips on his shoulder. The soldier in front of him kicked more mud into his face as they crawled under the barbed wire of Camp Pendleton's obstacle course.

"You wanna crawl a little more gracefully, hermano?" said James.

"Sorry, I can't get a foothold in this mud."

"Use your knees, not your feet."

"It's been a while since I had to do this," said the soldier, shooting a grin over his shoulder.

No kidding, thought James. A quick look around at the rest of his squad showed mainly overweight or uncoordinated soldiers panting and thrashing in the mud.

They cleared the barbed wire crawl and James sprinted ahead of the others to the solid wall they had to scale. He knitted his fingers together and braced himself for the soldiers who'd use his hands as a springboard to get over the wall. One by one, his squad clambered up and disappeared before a rope was thrown over and James cleared the wall last.

After another two hundred metre sprint, where he'd overtaken at least half his wheezing squad, the mouth of a long pipe gaped before him. It was just large enough for him to crawl through. From the darkness, he could hear others swearing as they wriggled through the tight fit. He stared across the length of the pipe. It looked ten klicks long.

"You okay, Vega?" asked one of his squad, smacking his shoulder as she stopped beside him.

He looked down at her dirty face and she raised her eyebrows at him.

"I'm fine, McCormack," he said, pasting a grin on his lips. She narrowed her eyes at him before shrugging and dropping to crawl into the hole.

Two more of his squad ran up, one of them panting out a thanks for waiting. James forced another smile. Yeah, waiting, that's what he was doing—making sure that everyone got into the pipe so they'd all finish together.

The last of his squad stumbled to the pipe, collapsed atop it, and squashed his face into his arm. "I can't breathe."

"By the end of the four weeks, it won't be so bad," said James.

The balding soldier rolled his head to the side just enough to glare at James. "Not all of us can be as virile as you, Lieutenant. Some of us were made for a desk."

James frowned, not sure whether his squadmate's sneer was genuine or due to fatigue. The soldier muttered a few curses, fell to his knees, and inched his way into the hole.

Down the length of the pipe, he could see his squad emerging and running to the next obstacle. He licked his lips and crouched to stare down the hole. The balding soldier blocked most of the light from the end of the pipe. The dark space didn't look or feel anything like a Collector pod, but it didn't have to. He stuck his head into the hole and put a tentative hand on the floor of the pipe. It was squishy from the mud. His heart thudded in his chest in a way that had nothing to do with the sprint. The mud wasn't warm like the squishy lining of the pod, but it didn't have to be.

The pipe smelled of earth and sweat and mould but memory filled his nostrils with the pod stench. He swallowed a lump in his throat as he crawled further. Sickly sweet rotting flowers. That's what the pod smelled like. Small and warm, pressing against his shoulders. His heart beat in his ears. Tight. Too tight. No escape. Going to die.

For nothing.

"Vega, come on." April's voice rang in his ears and chased his conscience around his head. "Lieutenant Vega." Her giddy laugh, her crying, her cut-off scream, the silence. "Move, Vega! You're going to get us all on parade duty at asscrack in the morning."

Hands like talons on his arms and scuffling in the darkness like the flutter of wings. He lashed out, fighting to get away from the Collectors and crawl back to where he could feel fresh air and freedom. His fist connected with something and he was rewarded with a pained cry. The talons disappeared and he wriggled backward into the open. He stood, gasping in the sweet air and staring up at the blue sky. Sunlight bathed him in warmth like a soothing blanket and he closed his eyes.

"I think you broke my cheekbone," said McCormack, her voice echoing from the pipe and distorted with pain.

Not Fehl. Camp Pendleton. Reinstatement training. Shit.

When he opened his eyes, McCormack was crawling out the entrance and her cheek was already bright red. Most of his squad had stopped to stare at him from the other end of the pipe with only the very few in front oblivious to what was happening behind them.

"What a fucking dismal performance." The instructor's voice boomed out of an archaic megaphone. The running specks in the distance stopped and finally realised they weren't being followed. "Congratulations, Lieutenant Vega, you've won the Biggest Disappointment award. You've earned your squad some quality time with the parade ground at 0500 tomorrow morning." The megaphone squealed and crackled in tandem with the groans from the squad. "I'm done watching you all waddle and wheeze. Hit the showers. You'll spend the rest of the day making sure the barracks are fucking spotless."

James ran a dirty hand over his face and hair. "I'm sorry, McCormack. Go to the doc. I'll clean for you."

McCormack sighed and shook her head. "You gotta get a hold of whatever just happened or you'll be out."

James nodded and trudged behind McCormack to the rest of the squad. He had no idea how to start 'getting a hold of it'. The last time the Alliance had tried to make him see a shrink, he'd gone to the first awkward session and took off to Omega two days later.

James pushed his food around his plate until all the colours blended together. The bilingual chatter of his family, usually a comforting noise, couldn't ease his mind today. Two more rounds of the o-course in the past week had seen him get no more than halfway down the pipe before he panicked. His squad was getting very good at drilling from 0500 until lunch.

"Rápido, Miranita, go see if frogs have grown hair. Diego's not eating," said Emilio as he nudged his daughter.

Miranda giggled. "That's just a saying, papá."

James looked up and tried to smile. In the mirror behind Miranda's head, he could see his face looked more like he was constipated than at ease.

"Siento. I'm really tired," he said with a sigh.

He put his fork down and leaned back in his chair, hands knitted together behind his head.

His abuela launched into a lecture about how growing boys needed to eat, but this time James was too tired to argue that he was only growing outward these days. Emilio's wife tried to convince the old woman to stay seated but she wouldn't hear of it, hobbling out of her chair to clear James's plate and pack him food to take back to base, just in case he got hungry later.

Emilio motioned with head for James to go get some air before his abuela decided to start force-feeding him whatever she couldn't pack away. James mumbled something about going to the toilet and slipped out of the room. He walked through the main hallway, fingers tracing over the knick-knacks and framed pictures that had cluttered the place since he was too short to touch the highest photos.

His abuela's arthritic dog looked at him from its bed as James passed through the lounge room and out the screen door. A few minutes later, the door opened and closed again.

"I thought you were supposed to stay in your dress blues for your half-day liberty," said Emilio.

James looked down at his t-shirt, the logo faded and fabric threadbare. His perfectly pressed uniform top with its shiny medals and coloured bands lay abandoned on the back of a chair inside.

"I don't remember you ever staying in your uniform during your half-days," said James, turning to lean back against the railing.

Emilio chuckled. "I never wanted to be a perfect soldier."

James dropped his gaze to study his spotless boots. Emilio leaned on the railing, looking out at the darkening neighbourhood. Streetlights flickered on in James's peripheral vision and Miranda's voice wafted out the open window as she argued with her mamá over her bedtime. He could get used to this, maybe. His family a short drive away, getting a job that didn't involve death, meeting someone normal. He frowned. It sounded boring.

"I might end up washing out." The lead ball in his stomach felt heavier now that he'd said it aloud.

"Oh?"

He rubbed his hands over his face in frustration. "I can do everything better than anyone else, but I can't finish the o-course. Crawling down that goddamn pipe makes me… remember things."

"How bad is it?"

"I fractured the cheekbone of the woman who tried to calm me down. I thought she was a Collector."

Emilio made a little humming noise in the back of his throat. "What are your options?"

"There's only one option: manage it," said James and he looked at his uncle with a humourless smile tugging at his lips. "Except, I have three weeks, and it takes people months of therapy to control their panic attacks."

"I'm a little out of my depth here. You talked to a counsellor about this? Or maybe Shepard?"

"I don't want to talk to Shepard." The words came out harsher than he'd wanted. One of Emilio's bushy eyebrows rose. "I don't want to talk about Shepard either."

Emilio shrugged and they fell into silence again. James inspected his shirt, poking at the hole his belt buckle made and checking the frayed edges. Shepard had told him to use clear nailpolish to keep frayed cloth from fraying further. Actually, she'd told him to get a new shirt, but he'd done neither of those things and now his shirt had a few lost threads running almost up to his bellybutton.

"I know she's not perfect. I've seen her vulnerable, she'd made questionable choices, and she's a major pain in the ass when she wants to be, but I expected better of her." She'd shot the last of her family to save him. Surely that meant something. "Anderson told me she always gets the mission done, but I didn't expect her to jump on the first omnitool she could get her hands on if it meant jeopardising us."

James propped his elbows on the railing and dropped his head into his hands. Coming back to Earth was supposed to make everything right for him again. Get reinstated, visit his family, go back to being the best soldier he could be—being with Shepard was an unexpected bonus—but now it was all going to shit.

"It sounds like you did expect her to be perfect," said Emilio. "You expected her to be exactly how you wanted her to be, even though you'd already seen and been told how she is."

James turned his head to glare at his uncle. "You're supposed to be on my side."

"I am on your side, chico, but that doesn't mean I won't call you out," said Emilio as he clapped James on the shoulder and chuckled. "I'm not saying it's going to be easy, but if you want to be reinstated, you either talk to a shrink or talk to Shepard."

"I can't."

Emilio nodded and patted his shoulder again. He pushed himself away from the railing and walked to the front door. James heard the creak of the screen door and then a pause.

"You took a risk once and made a choice that changed your life, Diego. Time for you to make another decision."

The door banged closed.

James felt seventeen again, leaning against his abuela's porch railing and wondering if tomorrow he'd be in jail or in the Alliance. Washing out after everything he'd achieved seemed worse than jail. At least if he was in jail, he'd see a lot of his old high school friends.

The patter of tiny feet on groaning floorboards inside interrupted his musings before Miranda's piercing voice.

"Why didn't Shepard come with you? Papá told me you and her were–" Miranda burst into giggles as she opened the door, "–'special friends'. Like I don't know what boyfriends and girlfriends are."

"You better not have a boyfriend we don't know about, Miranita," said James, looking down at her with a mock frown.

Miranda gagged. "Boys are gross."

James snorted. "We are gross."

"I liked her, though. She said I was as smart as her friend who has the same name as me." She beckoned for him to stoop down so she could talk into his ear. "Don't tell papá, but she taught me how to bypass the security on my omnitool. I can do whatever I like now. Maybe I'll talk to Shepard."

Great, now Shepard was teaching his cousin how to be an underage criminal. That was definitely what a cheeky, curious, too-smart-for-her-own-good kid needed.

"If you try it, maybe I'll tell your dad."

Miranda's scrunched up her nose and puffed out her cheeks before she turned on her heel and stormed off.

James shook his head and went back to staring at the empty street. The o-course was waiting for him tomorrow and he'd force himself down that pipe again, but it wouldn't matter. He'd never finish. Not without talking to someone who understood.

"Papá told me to tell you to go see tío Josh," said Miranda as she trudged out and glared at him.

He crouched so he'd be at eye-level with her. "Are you still mad at me for threatening to tell your dad?" She crossed her arms and stuck her nose in the air. "Okay, you don't abuse your power, and I won't tell your dad. No talking to strangers, no trying to contact Shepard. Deal?"

Miranda pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, a spark of mischief in them. "And going to see tío Josh? He misses you."

"You drive a hard bargain, Miranita," he said with a sigh but stuck out his hand. She grinned and grabbed it tight, shaking it with so much enthusiasm her whole body bounced.

"Buenas noche, tío Diego." She threw her arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his cheek.

"Que sueñes con los angelitos," he said with a smile and she ran back inside.

James's smile dropped. What a great week he was going to have: talk to Josh, talk to a shrink, and talk to Shepard. Emilio was an evil genius.

A/N: Thanks to my beta dismalniece for her awesome editing and general awesomeness for doing it even while busy with her own stuff. Also thanks to everyone who's still reading and has faved or reviewed or followed 3